Charged and Dangerous
by Scott Summers
Summary: Remy LeBeau's adventures as leader of The Thieves Guild. The stakes are high and the gambit's higher! CHAPTER THREE now up!
1. Charged and Dangerous

_Written for Marvel 2000 (.com) as Gambit volume two, number one. In their continuity Gambit leads The Thieves Guild after the death of his father at the hands of Bullseye. He hasn't been an X-Man for years. Hope you enjoy it!_

_**GAMBIT: CHARGED AND DANGEROUS  
chapter one**_

**

* * *

**

The woman reminded Gambit of Lara Croft. The long ponytail, not a hair out of place, sort of a hybrid between goddess and woman -- a hybrid between Angelina Jolie (who wasn't as great of a kisser as you'd think) and the videogame version of the character.

She'd commissioned The Thieves Guild three weeks ago to the day, giving them a hefty sum of five thousand dollars to steal three small boxes from Ridge Tech, Inc. Gambit hadn't asked what was inside -- her urgency, her desperation, kept his questions at bay.

Well, that and her briefcase full of cash. LeBeau prided himself in judge of character. In his experience, corporations like Ridge Tech probably weren't the most honest of businesses... any information gathered on what it was they actually produced led to dead end after dead end. It was shady enough for Gambit, she was beautiful enough for Gambit, and the money was good enough for The Guild. Good enough to get them off of his back.

He didn't ask how she knew about The Guild. Most of their business was local -- or personal -- and they didn't receive much traffic from beautiful British women with no connections to New Orleans.

"I'd say I don't possibly know how I can thank you," she loaded the last of the small, black, locked boxes into the back of her Mercedes, "but I did give you quite a bit of money."

"De pleasure was all mine," Gambit pulled a freshly-lit cigarette to his lips. "Jus' don't end up bein' some kinda supervillain. I'd hate to regret givin' you de last piece a'somethin' you needed to rule de world."

"I'll do my best," the Jane Doe replied. She moved closer to him. "Aren't you going to try and kiss me?"

"Don' even know your name, chere," Gambit backed away, gripping the suitcase and holding it over his shoulder. "'Sides," he grinned, "kissin' de customer, in my personal experience, is always bad for business."

"Theresa," she extended her hand. LeBeau tossed his cigarette aside, grabbed her hand with his free one and turned it. His lips fell on her fingers.

"Pleasure."

His stomach sank as he turned and walked away.

* * *

"De woman was trouble," LeBeau pushed the safe door closed, the briefcase inside. "De last t'ing I need right now is--"

"--t'get laid, Remy?" Henri Thordeaux arched an eyebrow. Henri was probably his closest friend in the Guild... which, these days, meant that he hated him the least. "De woman was beautiful."

"All of 'em are beautiful," Gambit took a seat at his desk. "We did de job, I got de money. Didn't need t'complicate it beyond dat."

"A beautiful woman gives you _five t'ousand _dollars, practically begs you for a kiss an' you walk away? You need a vacation."

Henri took a seat opposite LeBeau. He was very large -- a frame two times the size of Gambit's. LeBeau wondered how long the chair would support him. He wasn't fat, just big boned, and his own ponytail rivaled Heather's.

"It _is _hard," LeBeau laughed to himself, "stealin' from de rich, givin' to de poor..."

"Somet'in which, you keep doin', de guild ain't gonna have no money whatsoever."

"De guild is fine," LeBeau scoffed. He pulled a cigarette from his trench coat and lit it quickly. "I don' recall anyone starvin', bein' wit'out work, sleepin' on de streets."

"Well..."

"...okay, fine. Unless dey _wanna _sleep on de streets," Gambit corrected himself.

"Your daddy..."

"...is dead, Henri," Gambit stood. "Has been. I ain't Jean-Luc."

"I know dat," Henri mirrored LeBeau, the two men standing on opposite sides of the desk. "And I ain't got a problem wit dat... it's everybody else. De rituals, de rights of passage..."

"Are outdated," Remy puffed. "Dis is a business, mon ami. And it's runnin' smoothly wit'out all of de mumbo-jumbo."

"Dis is New Orleans, Remy," Henri grinned. "De mumbo-jumbo is all dat gets dese folks through night an' day. Maybe you ran wit de X-Men for too long, non? De books, de prophecies... all dat used t'mean somethin' t'you."

"I ain't run wit de X-Men for a long time, Henri," Gambit slammed his cigarette into an ashtray. He'd smoked that _fast_. "I'm just tryin' t'be logical. Immortals, deals wit' people like Candra, red-eyed saviors, all dat's in de past... rivalries wit de Assassins. We ain't got no need for dat."

"Speakin' of Assassins," Henri leaned against the desk, "you talked to Bella Donna? Word on de street is she's lookin' for you."

Gambit lit another cigarette.

* * *

Bella Donna slammed the trunk of the Mercedes closed, smiling to herself as she walked to the front of the car. She pulled the door open, casually wiping a bit of blood from the seat before she sat down, and drove away from two members of her Assassins Guild who were "doing away wit" the corpse of the woman so hell bent on stealing from Ridge Tech, Inc.

The leader of the Assassins made a sharp right a few minutes later, pulling into an empty lot and parking the car beside a navy-colored SUV. The door clicked open a second later, Bella Donna making her way to the back, popping the trunk and turning to meet a man clad in a business suit.

"Everything is taken care of, then?"

"Not 'til I get de money," she closed the trunk again. Her eyes ran from his broad shoulders to his narrow waist and then up again. "De Assassins don' work for free, mon ami."

He was handsome -- of the tall, dark variety, but Bella Donna never had much use for a man who wore sunglasses after sundown. If the eyes were a window to the soul, sunglasses were curtains... and curtains, for an Assassin, are never good.

"Mister Eugair extends his gratitude," he pulled a silver suitcase from the car behind him. "All five thousand dollars of it."

"Good," Bella Donna grabbed it, tossing the keys in his direction. He caught them and unlocked the trunk, grabbing at the boxes and placing them into his backseat.

Then he turned back, smiled, and tossed the keys back to her.

"A gift. For your services."

Bella Donna watched the man drive away as she leaned back against her new car. It was going to be a good night.

* * *

**CHURCH OF THE LOST THIEVES**

"Empty, empty," Gambit smiled to himself as he made his way down the candlelit pulpit. "De t'ieves, dey ain't got less t'be sorry for, I know dat. Looks like they just less inclined to apologize dese days, non?"

Remy listened to the echo of his voice as he took a seat in an empty pew. He ran his hands through his hair. "Guess dere's plenty I could apologize for... but I ain't here for dat," he tried to convince himself.

Gambit leaned back, his eyes focused on the stained glass above him to his right. He looked through it more than at it, his mind wandering back to the first time he'd ever entered the church.

Though it wasn't _this _church, was it? It had been rebuilt years ago after an explosion Gambit tended to ignore he had anything to do with. He'd come to New Orleans to save Bella Donna, to give her the Elixir of Life, and he'd faced off against the Assassins in this "holy" place.

It seemed so long ago -- but he preferred it that way. It was ironic... all of the fighting, the rivalries, the tithes, the immortality... all it ever led to was death. Even the death of his father.

Perhaps if he and Bella Donna had just been allowed to live out their lives together, none of it would've happened. "Tch," Remy spat. What a horrible thought.

He never would've left, never would've met Ororo, never would've joined the X-Men... but then again, look how _that _turned out. Here he was, all these years later, trapped in New Orleans.

And in the end, Henri loved pointing out, it _was _he and Bella Donna who brought unity to the guilds... a prophecy fulfilled. "If you don' believe in any of de prophecies, de old ways, Remy, just t'ink about you and Bel," he'd said on more than one occasion.

Gambit shook his head, clearing his thoughts. He wished she'd hurry up. His patience began to wane, LeBeau tracing his name in the dust atop the Bible beside him.

"Looks like sacrilege t'me," a man's voice called from the darkness. Gambit stood quickly. The voice was eerily familiar but also forgotten.

"Better show yourself," Remy called, a card sliding down his sleeve and into his fingers. "Church or not, mon ami, Gambit don' like bein' snuck up on."

There was no response. Gambit's eyes narrowed, sifting through the candlelight as best as they could. He moved forward through the room but found no one.

Then he felt it. Behind him. LeBeau turned quickly, extending his staff -- but at the end of it wasn't a man... but a woman -- the woman he'd been expecting since his arrival.

"You look spooked, Remy," Bella Donna smiled. "I know you don' spend a lot of time in de church... but it _was _you dat said we should meet here."

"You alone?"

"Like we agreed," she arched an eyebrow. "You been drinkin'?"

Gambit didn't answer, looking past her with determination. That voice... why was it so familiar?

"Remy," she grabbed his shoulders. "What's goin' on?"

LeBeau shook his head. "I heard someone... a man. You sure you weren' followed?"

"As sure as you are cryptic," Bella Donna smiled. She couldn't help but smile when she was around him... it reminded her of when they'd first met. "You and dis phantom man, you have a good time while you were waitin'?"

"Forget it," Gambit pushed her away. He wasn't even sure if he'd meant to. "You got de money, den?"

"Five thousand," Bella Donna moved to the pew with the briefcase. "An' you?"

"Same," Gambit said with a sigh. The two took a seat in unison, leaning against the back of the pew until Gambit broke the silence again. He'd noticed the blood on her sleeve.

"You made it quick, didn' you, Bel? She wasn't a bad woman."

Bella Donna stared blankly ahead, her thoughts returning to the woman she'd taken out for the five thousand dollars. The woman who'd just given Remy the same amount.

"S'good we met in a church, Remy," she turned. She could taste his guilt. "We got a lot t'be sorry for."

* * *

The walk back from the church was hard and the silver suitcase was heavy. Gambit mused that he should've learned to stop questioning his integrity a long time ago... but if he didn't have a conscience, what kind of man would he be?

Hell, what kind of man was he now? He and Bella Donna had a deal: it was simple, sure, but only on paper. They would play clients off of one another -- someone would hire the Thieves for a job, they would do it, and in turn the Assassins would inevitably be hired by those missing whatever had been taken from them. Or variations thereof.

It kept both Guilds in money -- the lump sums rotating between the two, and it kept both Guilds in work. It also provided Remy, the man in charge, with the money to help those who really needed it. Villains didn't always attack New Orleans and there were other ways to be a hero. It fed the hungry, provided shelter for the homeless. Bel had agreed not to actually kill if she could "help it," and only the two of them knew of their arrangement. But only Gambit felt the swell of regret in his gut.

Ever so often, though, Bella Donna surprised him with her uncertainty, leading Gambit to believe that maybe she wasn't the woman she once was. That maybe she was more.

She'd looked so beautiful tonight. Her blonde hair falling loosely across her porcelain skin. Her soft, perfect skin... he still felt her hand on his cheek.

LeBeau forced her from his mind but not the situation. He thought of that poor woman, Theresa. Was this peace? This is why he didn't believe in the prophecy -- but he couldn't tell Henri. There was a level of dishonesty even the Thieves would frown upon... not that they smiled on him much, anyway.

This wasn't peace. Just because the Guilds weren't at war with one another didn't mean that he and Bel had brought peace to New Orleans. Did it matter that he'd use half of the money for good? It was tainted. It was blood.

And it was on his hands.

Just like the Morlocks, just like the Grey King. He thought about Cyclops and how easily he'd come to him to do what he couldn't. No, that was different. The man was a monster.

Gambit stopped under a lamp post, staring into a closed candy store window. Was _he _a monster?

"Hey," Gambit heard a small girl call. He turned, hoping he wasn't imagining a second voice that night.

He was relieved to find the voice was real -- and coming from, as he'd guessed, a little girl. She was wearing an olive hoodie and blue jeans, her brown ponytail pulled back and away from her face.

"...h'lo," Remy smiled down at her. "S'awfully late for you t'be wanderin' de streets, non?"

"Saw-fully?"

Gambit arched an eyebrow. The girl looked up at him, puzzled.

"It... is... aw-full-y late," Gambit stressed, "for you to be out here on de streets all by yourself. An' to be pickin' on me, too."

"Would you rather I pick on you durin' the day?" she smiled up at him.

"De name is Remy, Petite," Gambit extended his hand, "an' you shouldn' talk to strangers... 'specially wit' dat sass. Not everyone's as nice as ol' Remy here."

The little girl grabbed his hand, pulling it toward her. "Why do you have holes in your gloves? Aren't your fingers cold?"

"It's more for effect, I s'pose," Gambit smiled. There was something about her that was refreshing. He was trying to watch his accent, rarely considered one in these parts, and wondered why she didn't have one. Or why she was so bold.

Or why he cared what she thought about the way he spoke.

"I was bored at home," she sighed. "I wanted some candy."

LeBeau turned back to the candy store, taking a few steps away from the girl and toward the door. It had been picked -- sloppily, Gambit noted as he pulled a bobby-pin from the keyhole, but picked.

"How old are you?" he turned back. But she was gone.

"Mon Dieu," Remy said aloud, running his hands through his auburn hair again. "Maybe I do need a vacation."

* * *

It had been two weeks since he'd seen Bella Donna. LeBeau had pushed her from his mind, pushed the child from his mind, and had even forgotten about the mysterious voice.

He had a horrible habit these days -- out of sight, out of mind... at least until things got quiet. Which, in reality, was all too often. Friends were scarce in New Orleans, even after all this time, and not many people cared to strike up a friendly conversation without some sort of ulterior motive.

Luckily, though -- depending on Gambit's mood and perception (varying by the day), there was Henri.

"Rumors, s'all m'sayin'," Henri stood atop Remy in the gym, convinced LeBeau would drop the barbell at any moment.

Gambit slammed the weights back into the air. "Rumors is as rumors does," he grunted. "Stupid."

"Dat don' even make no sense, Remy," Henri glared down at him. "Bella Donna's drivin' a nice new car, same care as dat woman was drivin' who hired you. It all looks a bit fishy. How deep does dis alliance wit dem go?"

Gambit shelved the barbell, sitting up from the bench and wiping the sweat from his brow. He grabbed his tanktop from another bench and pulled it over his head. "How do you even know what dat woman was drivin'?"

"Remy."

"Don' speculate," Remy moved toward the exit. "You just sound stupid." And with that, he was gone.

Henri took a seat on the bench. "An' 'rumors is as rumors does' is smart?"

* * *

Perhaps it was Remy's biased opinion, but the base of The Assassins was nowhere near as nice as that of his Thieves. Bella Donna definitely had a woman's touch, of that he was sure, but it was a touch seldom used for decorating.

Gambit moved to the base's entrance without much trouble. It was the middle of the day and, like his Thieves, most of their work was done at night. They were sleeping. Alliance or not, when Remy LeBeau showed up at the home of Bella Donna... someone was bound to have a problem.

Like the guy who opened the door Remy was in the middle of picking. LeBeau stammered to his feet, pulling his favorite lock-pick ("Rosemarie") from the door and sticking it back into his coat pocket. "H'lo."

The man reached out, his massive fists gripping Gambit's collar and pulling the mutant toward him. "Man o'little words, eh?"

"What is it you're wantin', T'ief?"

"A word wit' your boss," LeBeau grabbed at the man's wrists. His own hands didn't quite fit around them. "I don't t'ink she'll mind you lettin' me down. In fact, I recommend you doin' it right now, Mister..?"

"Goatreaux," he tightened his grip, pulling Gambit even closer.

"Word to de wise," Gambit said, bringing his knee into Goatreaux's stomach. The mammoth of a man barely doubled over -- but doubled over enough, LeBeau slamming his forehead into the Assassin's. "Brush!"

Goatreaux reeled back, thankfully, releasing LeBeau with just enough time for him to avoid the exploding watch on the man's wrist. The Assassin screamed, charging forward, his fists at the ready.

Gambit leapt over him with ease, his palms on the man's back, using his bodyweight to propel him farther away. He moved inside, Goatreaux turning to pursue as the screen door slammed shut between them.

"Mutant freak!" Goatreaux ripped at the screen door with his good hand, LeBeau extending his staff, eager to deal with the oncoming assault... but before he could, a plasma blast flew over Gambit's shoulder and into the man. He stumbled back, dazed but relatively unharmed.

"Watch your filthy tongue, Assassin!" Bella Donna stood at the base of the main staircase.

"My apologies, Bel," the man lowered his head. Gambit arched an eyebrow. "He was tryin' t'break in."

"He don' _try _to break in nowhere," Bella Donna took a few steps toward Gambit. "De leader of de T'ieves gets in wherever he pleases... and, as per our alliance, is welcome here _whenever _he please."

Goatreaux nodded, moving inside. His shoulder slammed into LeBeau as he walked past, Remy pulling a card from his sleeve and beginning to charge it. Bella Donna grabbed his wrist, Remy releasing the charge and pushing her away.

"Been a long time since you tried t'sneak up t'my room, Remy LeBeau."

"'Bout as long as it's been since I _wanted _to, Bel," Gambit adjusted his coat. "We need to talk."

* * *

Gambit had never driven a Mercedes. He preferred smaller cars; cars you could live with seeing destroyed or demolished. Or the Black Bird. Still, he had to admit, it wasn't a bad ride... but it wasn't a ride he wanted to take. It was one he had to.

It had taken some convincing, a bit of his Cajun Charm, but Bella Donna had agreed to let him have it. It wasn't so much the car that they'd argued over... it was more the termination of their arrangement.

"No more blood, Bel," he'd finally said. "I'm a T'ief, you an Assassin. Just 'cause we ain't at war wit' one another doesn' mean de lines have to get so blurry."

It would mean a pay cut for his Guild, something he'd deal with later, but it was something that had to be done. Their methods -- Bella Donna's methods -- were not his own. Not anymore.

The registration had been in the car... and as it turned out, the woman _did _have a connection in New Orleans: about thirty miles north. LeBeau pulled into the driveway uneasily. It was late... and perhaps whoever "Opal Hechten" was wasn't even home.

But the porch light, buzzing to life as he put the car in park, told him otherwise. Gambit watched from the driver's seat at the old woman made her way into the light, moved down the staircase and met him beside the car as he finally stepped out.

"Who are you?" she asked urgently. "Where's Terry?"

"_Theresa_," Gambit remembered the woman's name. "She's... she asked me to give you dis."

The woman's eyes squinted as LeBeau pulled a silver suitcase from the car. "A suitcase? Where is my granddaughter? And I won't ask you again, stranger. Who are you?"

"I knew Theresa," Gambit looked down at the woman. He had no idea what to say next. "Listen... your granddaughter..."

"...finally got involved with the wrong group of people, didn't she?" Opal stared up at him. "I told her, activism is one thing... stand up for what you believe in... but you start dealin' in shadows, you'll disappear in one."

Gambit had no idea what to say -- and from the look of it, the old woman knew it. She grabbed Remy's arm and took him inside. The two took a seat in the empty living room as the lonely old woman explained how her husband had been gone for years, her own children -- Theresa's parents -- had moved to London, and her granddaughter had moved back only three years ago.

She showed him pictures, told him stories -- and Gambit simply listened. He'd felt awkward at first; guilty. But he hadn't lied to the woman, not necessarily, and she seemed all too comfortable with death... all too comfortable with strangers... all too comfortable with all of it.

She was just happy to have someone to talk to... and truth be told, so was Gambit.

He'd watched her set the briefcase on the couch when they'd walked inside, the keys to the car atop it. If she suspected there was ten thousand dollars inside, Remy suspected she wouldn't have cared.

As he listened to the stories of her life, of her husband, her children, of Theresa -- he envied her.

Briefcases full of money were irrelevant -- and she was right: if you start dealing in shadows, you'll disappear in one.

And Gambit was ready to step back into the light.

* * *

_**CAJUN CORNER -- Author's Note**_

_The fact that it was 1999 when I wrote Gambit 1 for M2K the LAST time makes me feel old. I turn 24 two days from now as I'm writing this... so that would've made me... uh... okay, I'm bad at math. I was an English major, okay? It would've made me younger._

_I'm excited about Gambit's return to the solo-books and I'm even more excited about my return to M2K. I'll do my best to maintain the quality of writing everyone's upheld here... and my best to catch up, too! I'd like to thank Dave, Josh, Cory and Bryan for all of their help and particularly Dave and Bryan for answering my questions... there were A LOT of them. There will probably be a lot more, too, so thanks in advance. Heh._

_Let me know what you thought about the debut of Gambit's second volume... and I'll see you in thirty for part one of "Fatherly Sins"! _


	2. Fatherly Sins, Part One

**CHARGED AND DANGEROUS...**

**GAMBIT # 2  
(as seen at Marvel 2000)**

**"Fatherly sins, part one"**

* * *

The deal was off.

LeBeau's secret alliance with Bella Donna was over, had been over, for two weeks now. Sure, the accounts were dwindling – but only a few people would notice. Gambit had no reason to panic; no reason to believe anyone else would, and was only focused on one thing at the moment:

The fact that he'd just woken up in Bella Donna's bed.

He moved quietly, it was just before dawn, blindly leading himself across her bedroom in an effort to find his jacket. He slid it on effortlessly a moment later (it was draped over the chair in front of a computer desk) and made his way toward the window.

One lesson Gambit had learned was not to make his way through the home of the Assassins, if at all possible, so he tiptoed his way to the window. It was already cracked, step one, so he slid it farther open as quietly as possible.

If Remy had one thing on his side, well, it was luck – but apparently the window (and the lack of WD40) had missed the memo.

"Stealing away in de night, huh?" Bella Donna sat up. Most women would have pulled the blanket, tucked neatly across their naked body for subtlety, along with them as they moved away from their bed. But Bell had never been one with subtlety.

"Dat shouldn' a'happened, B," Gambit leaned back across the wall as she clicked a light on. God, she was flawless.

"Remy LeBeau," she smiled, "ever de charmer."

"I gotta get back," LeBeau ran his hand through his hair. "And I gotta stop drinkin'."

"One glass of wine isn't drinkin', Thief," she grabbed his hand and pulled it into hers. It was warm against the breeze from the window. "It's an excuse."

Gambit pulled it back and stared into her eyes for a moment – just a moment too long – and slid from the window into the night.

Bella Donna grinned to herself, falling back onto the bed and swirling around in the assortment of comforters and blankets. She rolled to the far side of the bed, pulling open a small drawer from the nightstand beside it. "Thank you," she smiled into it.

She'd never felt so alive.

* * *

The Church of the Lost Thieves was emptier than normal as the sun began to rise. Those of a guilty conscience were seldom guilty of being awake so early, not that many in this town frequented the old building anyway.

It had become Gambit's renewed stomping grounds, maybe his only friend. He'd found solace there more times than he could count, if only in its solidarity.

What in the hell had happened? He remembered meeting Bella Donna for dinner, a habit of playing with fire deeply ingrained inside of him, and he remembered… okay, he remembered all of it.

He hadn't anticipated sleeping with her, at least not until he saw her olive gown. It was low-cut, sure, your typical "we are _going _to sleep together" length, but it was supposed to be a business meeting.

To discuss their options.

LeBeau had a business to run and since putting a stop on his transactions with The Assassins… business was, to say the least, down. There had been one account since then, as opposed to at least seven or eight, and integrity didn't pay many bills. It didn't put food on the table.

They hadn't settled on anything ("sometimes a kill is all you've got in de world, Remy") and so the meeting had been moot… but not in Bella Donna's eyes. She'd wanted LeBeau and she'd gotten him.

"Don't play de victim," Gambit argued with himself. He heard his voice echo and found solace in it. "You wanted it just as much as she did. Y'old dirt bag."

LeBeau would not be party to massacre, to murder, and if Bella Donna couldn't accept that…

"You'll sleep wit' her," a voice called from behind. It was the same voice he'd heard just before his last meeting with Bell in the church. Familiar, yes, but undistinguishable at the same time.

Its source was nowhere to be found: it had come from above, it had come from below… to the right, to the left… ahead of him and behind him at the same time.

LeBeau stood. He slid his hand into his pocket, realized he'd left his deck of cards in Bella Donna's room, and decided to have a talk with Lady Luck. Gambit grabbed one of the old Bibles from the pew in front of him. "Who's dere?"

"Don' be worried," the man called – again from nowhere, "de only one you gotta worry 'bout is de woman you just bagged."

Then he saw it: in the far back corner, just for a second, the man's shadow. Energy coursed through Gambit, from his fingertips to the Bible, and he let it fly. "Show yourself!"

BOOM!

The Bible slammed into a table and exploded on impact. Unlit candles scattered across the church as LeBeau flipped over a pew, then another, and found himself in the aisle.

Alone.

* * *

"Dere's a big hole in de Church," Henri notified Gambit as he made his way into his office, "an' you're wearin' de clothes you left in last night."

"I'm always wearin' dis," LeBeau ignored him.

"I know. I hate it. Your father'd flip over in his grave, his son's lack of style. You're like a cartoon character, Remy.

Montgomery told me he heard an explosion at de church."

"Montgomery's an old homeless drunk, Henri. He told you last week he saw a vampire."

"Says de man who's been to de moon. Maybe he did. 'Sides, you're de only one who goes to dat church, Remy."

"Lemme ask you somethin', Henri," LeBeau lit a cigarette from behind his desk. "You ever get tired a'yer own voice?"

"Dis old t'ing?" Henri smiled as he took a seat opposite his leader. "Non. De only t'ing I get tired of is cleanin' up your mess. You missed a meeting this morning, Remy."

"Shit."

"Luckily yer ol' pal here is always on standby. Sleepin' is a waste."

"Luck indeed. How'd it go?"

"We got it. Some kind of 'family heirloom' gone missin', somebody up North a few ticks, and we gonna get it back for 'em. I won't bore you wit de details. You look like hell, Remy LeBeau."

"Nearly blowin' up a church'll do dat," Gambit dragged on his cigarette.

"See," Henri sighed, "I don' know why you try to lie to me. You can't do it."

"I never said I _didn't_ blow a hole through de wall, Henri. You're just too busy callin' me a cartoon character t'notice."

"And yer too busy sleepin' wit' de enemy to run dis Guild," Henri stood. "And don' lie to me."

"Ain't gonna," Gambit sighed. "Get outta here."

Henri made his leave after a concerned look or two. LeBeau leaned back in his chair, eyes on the ceiling. He could still smell Bella Donna's hair.

* * *

"Still smells like him," Bella Donna crammed her sheets into the washer. Normally she'd have someone do it for her – but many of the women in the Guild knew LeBeau's scent – _too many _– and she'd left the bliss of last night behind and moved into rage. Into abandonment.

"Don' be a victim," she told herself, stuffing the sheets farther down. "You knew what you were gettin' yourself into, girl."

"Bella Donna," the tiny laundry room door opened from behind, "you got company behind the house. And why're you doin' my job?"

"Invite 'em in."

"Well…"

"Who is it, Caroline?" Bella Donna meant to ask. Those that called at the home of The Assassins didn't receive blind invitations: her head was still on LeBeau's chest, still in the clouds. _Get it together_, she thought bitterly.

"Wouldn't say. Looks like a T'ief t'me."

"Anybody see him?"

"Just me an' your daughter."

"Keep it dat way," Bella Donna turned the washer on and made her way to the back. She moved quickly through to the back porch and then into the yard.

"Bella Donna," the Thief known as Davis pulled his hood back. "I know you told me not to come here, just calm down."

"I remember a time," she surveyed him, "dat anyone from your Guild, or anyone from even mine, didn't know what daylight _was_. I guess dat was before your time."

His blonde hair mirrored her own – and although he was only in his early twenties, she'd wager, he looked older than she did. "I need more."

"You ain't gettin' it, Davis."

"I didn't ask for it."

"Good," she glared at him. "Because you ain't gettin' it."

"Don't mess with me, woman."

Bella Donna spun quickly, her foot connecting with the new Thief's chest. He fell to the ground, his reflexes slower than any Thief she'd ever encountered, and she rested her heel on his throat.

"You think I won't go to LeBeau?!"

Her eyes narrowed. "You think I won' kill you right here?"

"You're making a bad decision, Bella Donna."

"What can I say?" she removed her foot and pulled him to his feet. "I'm on a roll. Dere _is _no more. You want some, you go to New York."

"How am I supposed to go to New York?"

"Tell LeBeau it's for a gig."

"And get up there with what money? Funds are low, Bella Donna… but you wouldn't know anything about _that_, would you?"

"What are you sayin', boy?"

"What every Thief knows, that's all. He's written all over you."

The Assassin reached behind him, grabbed his hair and pulled his head down into her knee. He doubled over in pain, stumbled back and pulled a gun from his pocket. "I know you have more!"

A plasma blast moved through her body and left her palms, slamming into the young man and sending his gun flying. He fell back to the ground, his nose still ripe with blood, glaring up at her. "Freak."

A knife flew from her fingertips a second later, connecting with the man's throat. There was something satisfying about the sound.

Bella Donna turned to see her loyal housekeeper standing on the porch, staring at her from behind the screen.

"Sorry about de mess, Caroline."

* * *

"Man never cleaned a day in his life," Gambit shuffled through some old boxes in his father's former office. He'd left it relatively untouched since Jean Luc's death, both out of respect and neglect. It was a lot of work, rifling through a lifetime of things. Especially when they belonged to the former King of Thieves.

Henri had taken a team with him to whatever job he'd secured in Gambit's absence that morning and LeBeau had finally elected to clear out some of his father's belongings.

At least if he was busy he'd be able to get his mind off of Bella Donna, though that became even more unlikely when he found his wedding picture amidst a pile of notebooks.

LeBeau remembered arguing with his father, even as he lay dying, about the framed picture still hanging upon his wall.

"You look all clean an' pretty, Remy," his father had protested.

The picture, and its immediate removal, was the only main difference in the mess of an office… other than an abundance of cobwebs and the vivid memory of his father lying dead on the floor.

"Bullseye," Gambit pulled a red notebook from a stack of what seemed like hundreds. He remembered it well: Jean Luc would write in it every night.

"Sometimes I t'ink you love dat paper more den me," LeBeau recalled telling his father one night.

"You live de life I have, Remy," Jean Luc had replied, "an' tell me it ain't important to write some t'ings down."

Gambit remembered Jean Grey once telling him that he should keep a journal. That it would help him sort out his life, deal with some of his guilt. He'd never felt more different from her.

Maybe she'd been right, just like his father was. But in the end, keeping a notebook full of thoughts, prayers and observations didn't do his father very good, did it?

LeBeau took a seat at his father's desk this time, kicking back in it like he would his own – but his own it was not. The old chair gave way, snapping in two, sending Gambit to the floor.

Dust erupted from the old wood beneath him, his hand slamming through an area the local termites had long since begun to work over. He'd definitely have to have that talk with Lady Luck – and soon.

"Hold on," Gambit said aloud, thinking briefly that he'd been talking to himself too much lately. His hand moved through a tiny area beneath the floor as he straddled the opening. He pulled an old folder from the depths, cleared the dust with his fingertips and decided that maybe, just maybe, luck _was _still on his side.

Until he saw his father's tiny handwriting at the bottom right of the folder. Printed, clearly, were five letters:

ESSEX.

"You gotta be shittin' me."

* * *

Henri shot a look of disgust to the woman before him. "You're late."

"Sorry, Henri," the young Guild member looked up at him. "It's been a long day, yeah?"

Leah Monx, one of the youngest of the Thieves, was normally beautiful. Flawless. At least punctual. Her auburn hair was unwashed, her face following suit, and her eyes were tired.

"Where's Davis?"

"He had to check on somethin' for us before we could go with you."

"Well, way I see it, you and Davis don't need to go on de mission. What'd he have to check on, hair product? Dat boy's a waste, and you'd better believe I'll be talkin' to Remy 'bout him."

"In a few days, Henri," Leah stretched, "Remy'll be wantin' to talk to him anyway."

"What're you gettin' at, girl?"

"Nothin'."

"Good," Henri grabbed her arm to pull her toward the van. She winced and pulled her arm back. The unofficial second-in-command grabbed at her wrist again, pushed her sleeve back, noted the scratches and needle tracks along her arm and stared blankly into her dead eyes.

"What are you usin'?"

* * *

"I saw him leave."

"Saw who leave?" Bella Donna looked down Jacqueline. "Honey, were you spyin' on your ol' momma?"

"The man in the trench coat. The man I'm not supposed to talk about."

"And what were you doin' up?"

"Watchin' him leave."

Jacqueline smiled brightly up at her mother. She was nearly half as tall as she was now, something Bella Donna didn't care to think about, and as inquisitive as any child ever was. Most children didn't have the leader of the Assassins for a mother, however, which sometimes was more trouble than it was worth.

"Don't you worry 'bout dat," Bella Donna smiled. "Go downstairs, Caroline's made you some dinner."

"I met him."

"_What_?"

"Not this morning."

"Jack, I swear to God. When?"

"I dunno, last week. Before that. He wasn't so bad."

"Go downstairs. We'll talk about dis after you eat."

Her daughter obeyed and disappeared behind the door. Bella Donna had employed many tricks in her years with LeBeau, sure, and was even playing with that kind of fire right now.

But she'd never used their daughter to get LeBeau back. It had never even been an option.

If Remy had met her… oh God, if Remy had _met their daughter_, he had to know.

Maybe that's why he'd come last night. Maybe that's why he'd really wanted to talk to her. He had to know… he had to have seen his features, Bella Donna's features, rolled into one.

He couldn't be that blind.

* * *

LeBeau's eyes darted across a few documents within the folder. Remy's birth certificate, signed Doctor N. Essex, turned his stomach, but what bothered him even more was that Jean Luc had signed it as well.

It couldn't be. It had to be some sort of trick, some sort of twisted seed laid by Sinister years ago. Remy was not Jean-Luc's biological son – and he certainly hadn't been delivered by Mr. Sinister… could he?

It had to be a joke. It had to. Gambit sat up, threw the folder on the desk and turned to the bookcase behind his father's desk. He began rifling through, book after book, notebook after notebook, until he found and victoriously pulled his father's copy of _One Thousand and One Nights_. Its pages were handwritten, the cover serving only as the protectorate of Jean-Luc's words.

Gambit had found it after his father's death and Tante Mattie had told him years ago to avoid reading it. For once, he listened, always resolving to flip through it eventually. Now was the time. He began to read.

_It was easier. It didn't make it right, but it was easier. He told me he would look after the child, raise him right… with those eyes, Lord only knows how the small-minded people of the Guilds would have reacted. The prophecies fulfilled, the child with red eyes, they'd have torn him apart._

_In the end, though, it tore me apart. I got my son back from that monster… but agreeing to give little Remy to that bastard, letting his mother think he died in birth, I lost my sweet love forever. _

_Couldn't handle it. She couldn't handle it and I never had time to tell her, time to grab that gun, that our son was alive… she never could have understood. I killed his mother with my deception… and all these years later, our boy returned to me, I can't bare to tell him the truth either._

_That Essex and I had a deal. That I'm his real father… that I'm responsible for his mother's suicide. He'll never even know her. Does it even matter that he's home now? That I'm gonna raise him right, try to undo whatever Essex did to him? _

_King of Thieves, sure, leader of the Guild, yes… but father? I ain't been a good father to any of my boys. And to think…_

It all felt too convenient. Too unreal. That this information, this _disgusting _information, had been in this room all along. That Jean-Luc really _was _his father, not in the way he'd always known, but biologically.

That Mr. Sinister had struck a deal with Jean-Luc. That Mr. Sinister had cultivated LeBeau, toyed with LeBeau, since childbirth. That Gambit's mother had killed herself when his father lied to her about his death.

No.

If something felt too convenient… it probably was.

"No."

Gambit turned sharply. It was the voice, the voice that had been haunting him for weeks now, the voice that had resulted in the hole in the church earlier that day.

Four cards shot in the direction of the voice, exploding in succession, causing only those few explosions rather than any revelation. Gambit clenched his fist.

The voice, it had to be Sinister's… this, all of this, had been a careful trap. Years of planning. But for what?

Shadows moved from the smoke and out of the room, LeBeau following eagerly. "SINISTER!"

LeBeau followed the shadows, followed his gut, closely. He ran up the stairs around the corner, through another room, and onto the rooftop.

That's when the voice was given a face, the voice connected with memory, and Remy's eyes focused on only one man. It was not Sinister.

"H'lo, son."

_**

* * *

**_


	3. Fatherly Sins, Part Two

**

* * *

**

GAMBIT

**volume two, issue three**

"**Fatherly sins, part two"**

* * *

Montgomery was a man of means. A man of the streets – something more common than not in New Orleans, sure, but he had always described himself as unique.

Most thought he was crazy. That just because his beard had now joined the visible chest hair just above his (now) off-white v-neck t-shirt he'd lost his mind. It wasn't the case, he'd argue (mostly with himself, not really helping his claim of sanity), it was just that there weren't many showers on the streets.

If you were lucky, it rained. It was better and much safer to use God's shower than it was to take a dip in the bayou. Lord only knew what was in there.

But things were about to change for Montgomery. Things were about to change for New Orleans.

He'd been a wealthy man at one point – a man of status. People respected him, respected his input: he was more than terminally unique then, and he was about to be more than he'd ever been before.

He was going to save New Orleans.

Montgomery brought the razor he'd finally found (didn't anyone throw them away anymore?) to his neck.

Save New Orleans indeed.

* * *

"Your blood was on de carpet," Gambit stood before Jean-Luc LeBeau. Before his (adoptive?) father.

"My blood's left my ol' body many times over, son," Jean-Luc stiffened. "Since when does bleedin' count as dyin', hm?"

Three tiny knives slid down LeBeau's arm and into his fingertips. "Who are you?"

"Your daddy," the elder LeBeau took a step toward him. "I been tryin' to get your attention, Remy… for about two weeks now, as it were. Yer too busy wit' Bella Donna and destroyin' my Guild t'notice."

"Daddy?" Gambit smirked. "My 'daddy' is dead. Been dead. Deader'n you."

"Fine," the former Thieves Patriarch cracked his knuckles. "If I gotta beat de truth into you, might as well. Ain't de first time it's had t'happen."

The three knives left LeBeau's digits, slicing through the air and connecting with the wall behind his supposed father. The wall splintered, exploded, lashing out in every direction possible after Jean-Luc flipped from harm's way.

He landed a few feet before Gambit and stood. "Last chance, Remy. Drop dis and hug yer ol' man."

Gambit's elbow connected with Jean-Luc's jaw, the older man stumbling back and slamming into a bookcase within the wall. Several novels hit the ground with a thud, the elder LeBeau rebounding and tackling Gambit onto the floor.

Remy reacted quickly, bringing his knees up into the man's gut and sending him flying from atop him to the floor behind. Gambit threw himself up in unison with Jean-Luc, grabbed a few cards from his pocket, and let them fly.

One card he'd overshot, another undershot and still another exploded in Jean-Luc's face. The man stumbled back and fell back to the ground. "Damnit, boy!"

Jean-Luc had little time to retort further, Gambit landing atop him, his staff pressed firmly against the man's throat. It began to glow a bright pink amidst his grip.

"Who are you?"

* * *

"De answer is right in front of you," Bella Donna stared into Henri's eyes from behind her young daughter.

"H'lo, Jack," Henri smiled down at the girl within Bella Donna's office.

"Henri," Jacqueline grinned and nodded. She was no ordinary seven-year-old.

"Bel," Gambit's second-in-command stood, "we need t'talk. Alone."

"S'been comin'," she agreed. "Honey, why don' you—"

"—go find somethin' t'do, Caroline's in the kitchen, it's time to eat anyway," Jack smiled up at her mother. "I know, mama."

The Assassin's heir smiled again at Henri and pecked her mother on the cheek before heading off to the kitchen.

"What're you doin' to Remy?"

"Walk wit' me, Henri," Bella Donna left the sanctity of her porch, her arm locked with his. She pulled him along, not having given him much choice. It reminded Henri of the old days – the days before Remy. He'd loved her once.

But that was a long time ago. "Get off me, y'old witch."

Bella Donna retracted her arm, crossing them in front of her chest instead. The two walked toward the Bayou. "You're messin' wit' somethin' bigger'n you realize, Henri."

"I ain't stupid, Bel. You an' Remy been fraternizin', de whole of New Orleans knows it. Remy ain't been right for weeks, one of my members is missin', and de one who was s'posed t'show up _with him _told me he stopped by t'see you. I ain't in de mood for games."

Bella Donna stopped a few feet from the water, turning deadpan to Remy's second-in-command. "I killed Davis. He's dead."

"What?"

"You said you didn' wanna play games. So we won't. I killed him. Dat headstrong boy ain't got no business chargin' into _my _home, somethin' _all of you_ seem to have a problem wit' lately. Demandin' drugs."

"Leah's got track marks, Bella Donna. She get 'em from you? Why was he demandin' drugs from de head of de Assassins? How are you runnin' your guild, woman? Where's de honor?"

"Money's tight."

"So you're peddlin' drugs? Are you out of your mind?"

"I'm an Assassin, Henri. I kill. Wit' a knife, I kill. Wit' a gun, I kill. Wit' drugs…"

"I get it," Henri's stomach turned. She looked satisfied – he'd never been more disgusted with her. "Every time I t'ink you're a decent woman…"

"Listen to yourself!"

"I'm serious, Bel. I don't _like _you, but I at least used t'have some respect for you… you're supposed t'be a leader."

"You watch the news, Henri? People don' _need _assassins anymore. Hell, people don' even need t'ieves! They're doin' it all them damn selves!"

"So you start sellin' drugs? You start givin' heroine to kids wit' a kid of your own in de house? What in de hell is wrong with you? Are _you _usin'?"

Bella Donna pulled up one sleeve at a time. Her skin was porcelain, clear, untouched. "I ain't stupid."

Henri sighed. "You killed one o'us, Bel. I can't just let dat go."

"Honor," Bella Donna scoffed. "Codes. Rules. Regulations. Dat's de past, Henri. Dere ain't no deals with immortals. Dere ain't no immortals. We're all just people, just people tryin' to survive. Guild is just a name."

"Maybe t'you."

"It all used t'mean somethin'," Bella Donna looked away. The winds blew over the bayou and through her hair, "yeah. It did."

"Back when you had him? What about your little girl? Have you even _told _him?"

"He knows, Henri. I know he knows. She told me she met Remy."

"He don' know, Bel. And if he did… what d'you t'ink would happen? You gonna move in together, sell drugs together? Be one big happy family? Remy ain't like you, he ain't like me, he ain't like any o'us. De boy's a hero."

"Because he was an X-Man?"

"Because he's his father's son," Henri shook his head. "He got outta dis mess. I love havin' him here, yeah, but dis ain't his place. Not anymore."

Bella Donna stiffened. "De old ways, de heroism – an' listen t'you, dere ain't no heroism in bein' a goddamn _T'ief_ – it's all gone. Jean Luc took it with 'im. Jean Luc is dead."

* * *

"I'm tellin' you I ain't!" Jean Luc stared up at his son. Remy felt his eyes pierce his own. Gambit pulled his staff back, its glow disappearing. "I'm right here, you swamp rat!"

The younger LeBeau took a step back, surveying the damage in the room. He suddenly felt at ease. Jean Luc pulled himself up, rubbing his neck. His hand fell on Remy's shoulder, Remy's tension mounting again. Gambit turned quickly, grabbing his wrist and pulling his father forward into the knife he'd held in his hand. Jean Luc doubled over, his blood-fused saliva leaping from his lips.

"You. Ain't. My. Father."

Gambit shoved the old man away from him, the body falling to the floor with a crunch. LeBeau turned, walked to the battered desk at the front of the room, took a seat and lit a cigarette. He ran his hand across his forehead and fell limp in the chair behind him, the cigarette toppling to the ground.

It was several hours later that the door to the room slammed against the floor, its hinges broken. Henri stood at the office's entrance, the door knob in his right hand, staring blankly ahead at the destruction. His eyes focused on Remy, asleep – dead? – in the chair behind what was left of the desk.

"Remy?!" Henri darted forward, LeBeau jolting upward and stumbling forward a second later, his palms sweaty and against the desk as he caught himself. "What in de hell happened?!"

"I… don' know," Remy confessed. He looked up at Henri, his only friend grabbing his arm and tossing it over his shoulder. "Jean Luc!"

"What?"

Remy pushed him aside, moving around the desk to see an empty room with no sign of his father, imposter or otherwise. "He was here, Henri… somebody was… it was… it was horrible," Remy's knees went weak. His second-in-command caught him effortlessly, his shoulder at the ready once again.

"I know what happened, Remy. Bella Donna."

Remy's head turned. He looked so lost, so confused. Henri had never felt such a swell of pity for the man – it wasn't a good feeling.

"She told me everyt'ing."

"An what's dat?"

"De woman put a spell on you."

"I'd say."

"Drugs, Remy," Henri sighed. "Bella Donna drugged you. Last night. Somethin' from New York, somethin' she or somebody else got from somebody in… Mutant Town?"

"An' here I thought _I _wasn't makin' any sense."

"We gon' deal wit' dis tomorrow, Remy. We gon' deal wit' it hard. Right now, let's get you to your bed, hm?"

Gambit wanted to fight, wanted to struggle. He wanted answers, explanations. But right now, Henri knew best: he wanted sleep.

* * *

**THE NEXT DAY**

"Run de tape again, Henri," Remy leaned forward, his face only a foot away from the monitor before him. He was glad he'd won the fight to install security cameras around the Guild home, a notion many of the comers-and-goers of the Guild home found invasive and ridiculous. But, then again, they were thieves.

"How many times you gonna watch it?"

"Just once more," LeBeau waved his hand, Henri starting the tape up again. Remy watched the fight ensue. There were waves of kinetic energy – in cards, in knives, in his staff. There were splintering doors, shards of desk, papers flying.

He watched himself topple to the ground, slam into bookcases, all of it. Only there was no one else there. There was only Remy LeBeau. Only Gambit.

He'd been alone the entire time.

"Dat's enough," Remy watched himself collapse in the chair for the seventh time. "Jesus, Henri," he looked up at his old friend.

"You saw Jean Luc de whole time, Remy?"

"I wasn' just talkin' to myself," Gambit shook his head. "Well. I guess I was… but I didn't t'ink so, not at de time. I'm not crazy, mon ami."

"You were," he replied. "What I been tryin' to tell you, Remy, it was Bella Donna. She drugged you."

"I heard you. I just don' want to believe it."

"Somet'in foul, Remy. It was green… almost reminded me of de bayou, 'cept a lil cleaner."

"What's everybody got against de bayou? I was born an' raised in dat thing."

"Like I said. Foul."

Remy smiled for the first time in a day, running his hand through his hair as he stood. "Only one t'ing t'do, den."

"Dat bein'?"

"Pay a visit to Bella Donna," Remy's eyes narrowed. "You say she killed Davis."

Henri nodded.

"She's got Leah in wit' drugs heavy."

"Leah who's since disappeared, Remy."

"An' she drugged me. Wit' somethin' from New York herself. T'inks she's playin' all fancy, dealin' with someone in Mutant Town?"

"From what she told me, Remy, yes."

"De guilds, Henri… they're fightin' a different kinda war dese days."

"One you," the door to their left slammed open, Bella Donna standing in the doorway, "ain't prepared to fight, Remy LeBeau."

Remy reached inside his pocket, Henri stepping in front of him. "What are you doing here, Bella Donna?"

"You been payin' enough visits to my home," she shifted her weight, "I figured I owed you one."

"What did you _do _to me, Bel?"

"Well, if you remember, it started wit' wine…"

"And apparently somet'in' else, not long after."

"You look like hell, Remy."

"I kicked de shit out of myself, dat's why. Whatever it is you got from Mutant Town… whatever it is you slipped me to touch your filthy hide…"

"Stop it."

Remy pushed past Henri, moving toward his ex-wife and stopping a few centimeters from her face. "You're lucky you're a woman, Bella Donna."

Bella Donna's eyes narrowed and her stomach tightened, the Assassin spitting directly on Gambit's face. LeBeau turned, wiped his face and extended his staff all in one movement – bringing it toward Bella Donna until she stepped aside, her young daughter revealed behind her.

Jack winced at the staff but remained still. She brought her hand to it, wrapping it around its end. "This is nice."

LeBeau retracted his staff.

"Bel," Henri spoke up from behind. "What are you doin'?"

"It's time he knew, Henri."

"What are you--?" Remy stared down at the girl, his eyes darting to Bella Donna a second later, then back to Henri. "You _knew about this_?"

"Remy, I didn' t'ink… Jesus, Bel, get her outta here. Have you lost your mind?"

"I'm sorry, Remy, but Jack here is your daughter. Look at her."

Gambit took a step back.

"We've met," Jack said innocently. "At the candy store?"

"Yeah, petite. I… remember."

"Come home wit' me, Remy. Wit' us. I been tellin' Jacqueline all about you. She's excited to get to know her daddy."

"Get. Her. Out of here."

"Henri," Bella Donna glared, "dis ain't none of your concern."

"De hell it ain't—"

"—no, Henri, she's right. It ain't."

"Remy?"

"I ain't got no daughter," Remy stiffened, his eyes avoiding the stance of the young girl. "I ain't interested in playin' house wit' a murderer and a drug pusher," he glared at Bella Donna, "and I sure as hell don' have no friends in New Orleans," he finally turned to Henri.

"Remy, I was tryin' to—"

"Shut up, Henri."

Bella Donna's hand grabbed at LeBeau's, Gambit knocking it away. "Touch me again, woman, and so help me…"

"Calm down, Remy. I know dis ain't de…"

LeBeau shoved past her, past Jack, leaving the three behind and moving downstairs.

"Mama?" Jack turned. "I thought…"

Bella Donna grabbed at her daughter, pulling her close, but she didn't follow.

* * *

**TWO WEEKS LATER, THE CHURCH OF THE LOST THIEVES**

For once, the warring town controlled by the Thieves and Assassins Guilds in New Orleans was quiet. The Patriarch of the Thieves stood tall, stood silent, staring down at his gathered brothers and sisters with a solemn expression.

When he spoke, he did so with carefully arranged words; planned words, down to the last syllable. The crowd matched his silence, all personal feelings placed aside – at least today. For as liberal as the Guild had become, in a time like this, tradition served them best, or at least as best it could.

The candles placed strategically around the church blew out quickly, the wind seeping inside from the gaping hole – tarp-covered or not – from Remy's run-in with the church walls. Henri made reference to this, several Guild members recalling LeBeau's trademark explosions with a smile.

"I will lead dis Guild to places it's never been wit' Remy's memory to guide me," Henri vowed. "We will continue de tradition de LeBeau's have laid before us, my T'ieves… I promise you dat."

Henri finished the service, as was his right after his succession to leader of the Thieves only three days ago, and stepped outside. Bella Donna met him in the shadows, pulling her cloak back slowly to reveal her blonde locks.

"They really t'ink he's dead, huh?"

"They t'ink what de Patriarch tells 'em to t'ink, Bel. For all intents and purposes, Remy LeBeau is dead to dis life. You made sure of dat."

"You could have told them de truth."

"What, Bel?" Henri stiffened. "Tell 'em dat you drugged de leader of de T'ieves? De one claim any of them have, personal feelings about Remy aside, to de hey-days of Jean Luc LeBeau? To tradition? An' more importantly, to _money_? Tell 'em dat because you brought your _daughter _into de mix, he just up an' left?"

"Do you ever get tired of de sound of your own voice, Henri?"

Henri's eyes were blank, the leader of the Thieves waving her away. Bella Donna pulled her hood up, turning into the shadows and heading home.

"…yes," Henri sighed. "Yes. I do."

* * *

_NEXT: REMY HEADS TO NEW YORK._


End file.
